We must all stop somewhere, sometime, if only for a breather.
After driving over 370 km and nearly all day from Taupo to Wellington, we are glad to check into our hotel, reaching it a couple of hours before sunset.
Our room embraces the French art de vivre, or at least that’s what the brochures say; we simply embrace the sight of a large, comfortable bed for the evening.
There are framed prints of botanical studies — plants and their leaves, flowers, seeds and sexual organs. There are, regrettably, shadow boxes of pinned butterflies on the walls too, their iridescent wings never to flutter again.
The colour of the wallpaper a pale toffee, which reminds us: we’re famished.
Forget about investigating what’s still open in the CBD at night; the hotel restaurant is all we can manage, weary as we are.
It’s not a bad choice. The place is almost full when we arrive. Laughter, tinkling of wine glasses. We’re lucky to get a table, a nice one at that.
Meat lovers would rejoice here. All cuts of meat are cooked on a grill fired up with local manuka wood. Our server tells us they only use pasture-raised animals that graze on “organically managed pasture and stored dried forage.”
They sound like they’ve been having it better than most of us grain-fed humans. (Steel-cut oats are divine, no matter what the latest dietary fad might claim.)
Our entrées: smoked pork hock terrine and duck liver on brioche toast; seared Hokkaido scallops, with chorizo, ginger, yuzu and a lemongrass veloute.
The flavours are from all over the globe: French, Japan, Spain, even Thailand. It’s what we’ve come to expect these days. The world is growing smaller.
And we contemplate the worsening Covid-19 outbreak. How could we not? It seemed under control when we first started our vacation but things are turning again, and changing fast.
The world is growing smaller and more terrifying by the day. It’s not hard to feel helpless.
Then our mains arrive, as if to dispel any further fretfulness. You declare your “first class lamb rack” to be too fussy. My Japanese Wagyu Kagoshima A5 Scotch fillet could be more marbled for its price.
We share our recollections of the best Wagyu Kagoshima A5 I’ve ever had, at Sühring Bangkok some years ago for my birthday. Now that was well-marbled. I’m licking my lips just thinking of how the impossibly flavourful fat melted on my tongue…
But we are being ungrateful. We are in a nice restaurant and having a good meal after a long day. We have each other and we are healthy. What more could we want?
As it turns out, we wouldn’t mind more of our sides: Heirloom tomatoes and confit peaches smothered with toasted almond and salty grana Padano. Chargrilled summer sweetcorn on cob, dressed with whipped anchovies, basil butter and a surprise hit of chillies.
That’s when I stop thinking and, if I’m honest, worrying. Instead of engulfing myself with regrets about what is past and anxiety about what is yet to come, I allow my attention to be consumed entirely by what’s before me.
I’ve never tasted sweeter corn nor any spicier. Every bite a gift. The very act of eating is its own wisdom.
Everything will be alright. Everything is alright.